


Storms

by DiamondScribe (DiamondSuits)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Furry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondSuits/pseuds/DiamondScribe
Summary: Dalia wakes to the sound of waves.





	Storms

Dalia wakes to the sound of waves.

Not that it’s unusual – she hears it all from her little pocket of paradise in the sleepy seaside town, the roar of waves and the cry of seabirds as commonplace as breathing. Usually, it’s gentle, slow and as steady as a heartbeat.

It’s different today.

She lays there, squinting up at the ceiling as she tries to place it. Louder, rougher – almost angry, in a way that has the fur on the back of her neck standing on end. They’ve been talking about the burgeoning storm for days now, newscasters pointing at blobs on the map, drumming up fear and sales of water as people scramble. It’s nothing different from the hundreds of others storms she’s endured before it, but the tension heavy in the air is enough to make her wary.

With a sigh, she rolls over, arm out to curl around the nearest thing. There’s a swirl of blankets instead. It takes a moment to snuffle at them (sweat and sex and lipstick nicer than any she could afford) before she finally raises her head.

It’s in that weird place between morning and night, when the moon is just touching the waves and a hazy sort of grey sits on the horizon. Her bedroom is illuminated in moonlight and the sign from Rico’s Empanadas, silver and neon cutting a slice through tangles of tossed clothes and pillows. A dark figure lingers in the balcony. Shorter, slighter, every tuft of fur groomed to absolute perfection, leaning out as if to soak up every last bit of fading starlight.

Dalia’s chest squeezes – caught between love and longing, the sensation is oddly painful. It gets worse when she rises, padding over to find Katrina dressed in the same smart, sensible outfit she wore when she stepped off of the terminal three days ago. A suitcase stands by the door, zipped and waiting.

“…You’re up early.”

She’d meant it to sound lighthearted, but her voice comes out all wrong. Katrina makes no mention of it, and neither does she as he comes to her side. It feels almost wrong to do so – before, she would’ve wrapped her arms around her from behind, hugged until the skunk squirmed and tickled her face with her long, bushy tail. Then they’d laugh, and kiss, and things would be fine. (Up until two days ago, anyway, when she’d tried it and was met with an annoyed request to stop).

Dalia follows Katrina’s eyes to the horizon. The waves are just as bad as she’d thought, dark and churning, mercilessly gnashing against the shore. Low tide, and it was still higher than she would’ve liked. Maybe the storm would be a bad one after all.

“Well, my flight does leave in two hours,” comes the eventual answer.

Dalia’s attention is torn from the sky at once. Eyebrows furrowing, her lips part as she glances Katrina’s way. She’s not looking back, eyes on the sea and the sky as if he expects to find some kind of truth there.

“I thought you weren’t going to leave until Friday.”

“A call came in from my client; they want me back early so we can talk over their case. You know how it is.”

No, Dalia wanted to say. She didn’t. Katrina’s work was important – she helped people, just like she’d always wanted, had always talked about with that bright sort of excitement. Dalia just wished that people would go to those tv lawyers instead, even just for a few days longer.

“Oh.”

A moment of silence.

“I mean, I guess there’s next time. You and me will make a real week out of it, make up for lost time. It’ll be good.”

When Dalia reaches over to take Katrina’s hand, she finds her grip limp in her own. Their fingers don’t twine in the way they used to, like they should have.

Katrina is quiet again, this time for too long.

“I don’t know when I’m going to make it out here again.”

Dalia opens her mouth to say something, but Katrina continues.

“My cases are starting to pile up, and between that, and arranging my new apartment, and settling into my own firm… I’m going to be busy for a while.”

You were busy for a while before coming here, Dalia wants to say. You’ve been busy for ages.

She nods instead.

“I mean… Yeah. That’s fine. Totally fine, you do you. Someone needs to stay here and run the surf shop, so… Not like you don’t know where to find me. And there’s always skype, and all! So it’s not like we won’t talk.”

Katrina finally smiles.

“Right.”

They both know that they won’t talk. They didn’t talk before now, save for the occasional photo of coffee, of papers, of the sunset. Neither mention it, standing in silence save for the wind and the waves and the rumble of an engine below. A sleek black car crunches against asphalt as it pulls up alongside Dalia’s rusted out love van.

“That’s my Uber.”

“You didn’t have to call one. I don’t mind driving you to the airport.”

“I know, I know. Just didn’t want to wake you up this early.”

Dalia wonders what it would have been like to wake up and find her apartment empty, the scent of Katrina lingering like a ghost. She can’t tell if that would’ve been better or worse.

She walks Katrina to the door, watches as she eyes herself in the mirror one last time, then snags her suitcase. The door is open before she finally turns back.

A hand cups Dalia’s cheek. The touch is soft, careful, but even that’s enough to drain the tension from the hyena’s shoulders like a burst dam. It’s nothing compared to her smile. Soft, the pink light of Rico’s Empanadas glints in Katrina’s eyes, even as they scrunch a little at the corners. When she reaches up and tucks a lock of Dalia’s hair back (blue, the same shade of aqua she’s been dyeing it since Katrina was Kitty and laughed a lot more), things are alright for just a moment. She leans up for a kiss that’s too short and too bittersweet, Dalia’s chest feeling more wrong than ever when the skunk steps back.

“I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself, doll.”

The pet name nearly has Dalia breaking on the spot. She smiles as if the world doesn’t feel a few degrees off.

“Yeah, you too. Text me when you get home.”

A smile, a murmured promise, before the door closes.

The grumble of a departing vehicle synchs up near perfectly with the rumble of thunder on the horizon. Dalia looks to the sinking moon, and not for the first time, wonders if there’s enough vanilla vodka left to make her forget a little.

As she searches through the crowded cabinets, she finds herself disappointed again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I've been getting too into OC work :V Gotta get down to fandoms some time! 
> 
> Always down for feedback and con crit, if ya'll have any to share!


End file.
